


Smiles In The Darkness

by thebadwolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebadwolf/pseuds/thebadwolf
Summary: Sherlock tries to hang himself, only to be stopped by John and Greg.  He tries to play it off as an experiment gone wrong but John knows the truth. Will Sherlock try again or can John help him before it's too late?





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sherlock only had a short time to do what he wanted. John was out having a few drinks with Lestrade They wouldn't be back for hours. Rosie was spending the night with Molly. Mrs. Hudson had been silent all night. No one was going to distract him. He wasn’t going to be disturbed. That was a good thing. He had some construction to do.

 

The detective pulled a kitchen chair from the kitchen and into the sitting room. The sound of the chair dragging on the floor filled the silent flat. He sat the char in the middle of the room. One of his hands held a short wooden board; while the other held an electric screwdriver. After only a moment the board was attached. He pulled a large hook out of his pocket and began drilling it into the board.

 

He gave the hook a hard pull.

 

Yes. It would work.

 

Sherlock climbed down from the chair and placed the electric screwdriver on the couch. His hands were trembling slightly as he picked up a rope from the couch. He tried his best to steady himself as he wrapped the roped around his neck. He pulled the rope tightly to his skin before he tied it.

 

Sherlock stepped back onto the chair and tied the other end of the rope to the hook. He made sure it was as short as possible. There couldn't be any mistakes. It needed to work. He didn’t know if he would get another chance.

 

His eyes glanced at the window. He tried to the focus his eyes on the buildings outside. There was no way he could think about what he was getting ready to do. If he thought about the people he was going to leave behind he would change his mind. Changing his mind was something he couldn't allow. This was something that needed to happen. He stepped off the chair and gave it a hard kick. The wooden chair fell to its side with a thud.

 

To his horror, his neck didn’t break. His hands automatically went to his throat. He grabbed the rope and began to claw at it in vain.

 

Sherlock needed to breathe! He didn't want to die!

 

\--

 

“Are you sure about this?” Greg asked as they walked into the flat.

 

“Yes,” John said as they climbed the stairs. “I got the feeling he really wanted to come along tonight.”

  
John couldn't explain what had given him that feeling. He just felt like Sherlock needed some social time. Sometimes he worried that Sherlock didn't realize how many friends he had.

  
“He never wants to come drinking with us,” the detective inspector said.

Lestrade couldn't remember the last time the detective had joined them for a drink or a meal. He always seemed to have an excuse for not going.

  
“We’ll ask him anyway,” the doctor said. “If he doesn’t want to come we’ll go on our own. I just want him to feel included.”

  
Greg gave a little nod in agreement. Sherlock was a bit annoying but he liked having him around. He was still his friend.

 

John opened the door to the sitting room and walked inside. He stopped just inside the doorway causing Greg to bump into him.

“Sherlock!” John screamed before running to the center of the room.

 

It was only then that Greg realized what had upset John so badly. Sherlock was hanging from the ceiling by a rope around his neck. He was gasping for air and fighting with the rope.

 

The doctor rushed over and picked up the disregarded chair. He stepped onto it and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He lifted his friend as high as he could. Sherlock gasp as he sucked in a mouth full of air. His hands stopped fighting against the rope.

 

“Get a knife!” the doctor screamed. “Cut him down.”

 

Greg rushed into the kitchen and started yanking open drawers looking for a knife. After a quick search he found a big kitchen knife. He quickly ran into the sitting room with it and he jumped onto the coffee table. It only took a few swipes of the knife to cut through rope. Sherlock and John tumbled to the floor. The man lay there silent and still as John tried to get the rope off. He only let himself struggle with it a moment.

 

“Give me the knife,” John said.

 

Greg got down from the coffee table and knelt down next to his friends. John took the knife from him and carefully cut the rope off. The doctor frowned at the sight of Sherlock’s neck. There were long red raw marks all around his neck. No doubt there would be bruising the next day.

 

“Sherlock,” John said. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Yes…” Sherlock whispered blinking his eyes.

 

“Have you lost your mind?” Greg asked. “If we haven’t come to get you you’d be dead.”

 

“Fine,”’ was all the injured man could whisper.

 

Sherlock knew they would be angry with him if they thought he had tried to kill himself. Could he really blame them?

 

“Greg,” John growled. “Help me get him on the couch.”

 

John knew that Greg was responding the wrong way. He would speak to him about it later. If Sherlock had tried to kill himself he needed comfort, not scolding. The two men picked Sherlock up and carefully moved him to the couch.

 

Sherlock was starting to come around. He wasn’t blinking wildly anymore. His eyes were wide and looking around the room with confusion. Clearly, he didn't expect to see them there.

 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked in shock.

 

They weren’t supposed to be there! They were supposed to be out!

Sherlock wanted to scream at them for coming back earlier. They had messed everything up. Yet, he held his cries in. He knew screaming wouldn't do any good.

 

“We came back to invite you out,” Greg explained looking down at his friend.

 

“Just rest,” John said placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll take you to A&E to get looked at.”

 

“No!” Sherlock said shaking his head. “I don’t need to go. I was working on an experiment and I messed up. That’s all.”

 

John looked up to see Greg staring at him. Judging by the look on the older man’s face he wasn’t buying what Sherlock was saying. It didn't make any sense.

 

“I’m calling Mycroft or we’re going to A&E,” John explained turning his attention back to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock closed his and shook his head repeatedly. How could he have been so stupid? Of course, John would know he was lying. It was normal for a doctor to want to get him help. Why did they have to come back?

 

“A&E,” Sherlock answered before falling silent.

 

John quickly picked up his mobile and pushed in the numbers. Sherlock tried to ignore the sound of his friend reporting his injury. He had done this to himself and didn’t deserve help.

 

“Yes,” John said. “I cut him down but I have no idea how long he was up there.”

 

Sherlock was aware that his friend was still talking but he couldn’t hear them. His body felt broken down. The urge to sleep was becoming overwhelming. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

John couldn’t get over what he’d seen. Sherlock had hung himself from the ceiling. The detective had even screwed a board to the ceiling to make sure it would support him. He didn’t want to leave any room for error. He never expected John come back and invite him along. The doctor never did that. He’d broken a habit.

 

Thank god he had. If he hadn’t come home early Sherlock would be dead.

 

HIs friend was unconscious during the ride to the hospital. John decided to ride along with Sherlock. He wanted to be there if something went wrong on the way. He knew there was a chance Sherlock had done serious damage to his neck. Greg promised to meet him a the hospital. 

 

John decided not to text anyone about what had happened. This was Sherlock’s private business and he wasn't sure he would want anyone to know. 

 

As Sherlock was taken to see a doctor John sat down in friends and family room. He wished Greg would get there already. He didn’t like the idea of sitting in that room. He felt alone and helpless. 

 

He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of his phone beeping. He glanced down at his new messages.

 

**Is he alright? My people couldn’t get there in time.**

**MH**

 

John quickly began to type a reply.

 

**Yes. At least I think so. I got there just in time**

**JW**

 

Did Mycroft know his brother planned to take his own life? John hadn’t seen any sign that friend was thinking about taking his own life. He was doctor dammit! He was trained to see signs of suicidal urges. 

 

**I’ve called our parents. My mum is on her way.**

**MH**

 

John shook his head putting his mobile. What the hell was he going to say to Mrs. Holmes? Would she blame him? After all, he was Sherlock’s best friend and doctor. He had a responsibility to keep Sherlock safe.

 

The doctor put his head in his hands and tried not to think about the blame he was feeling. He had been a bad friend and doctor but he had a chance to make it up to Sherlock. He would keep a better eye on him and be there to support him. He had to help his friend. 

 

\--

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked around the small hospital room he was in. He tried to move his head but stopped right away. A sharp pain shot through his neck. He must have stressed it when he had…

 

Oh.

 

He had tried to hang himself. 

 

John and Greg had cut him down. If it wasn’t for them he would be dead.

 

He was surprised to find he was alone. He wanted to know how long he was going to be there. He wanted to go home. 

 

Sherlock picked up the pager and pressed the button for a nurse.

 

It was only about a minute before a nurse opened the door and walked into the room.

 

“How are you Mr. Holmes?” she questioned walking over to his side. “We weren’t expecting you to wake up so soon.”

 

“When can I go home?” he questioned. 

 

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “Dr. Schaffer wants you to have a full psychiatric evaluation.”

 

No! Sherlock wasn’t going to stand for that. He didn’t want a doctor asking him a million questions about his mental state. 

 

“You have some family and friends waiting,” she explained when she saw the look of disgust on Sherlock’s face. “Would you like to see them?”

 

Family and Friends? Oh. John and Mycroft would be there for sure. He didn’t care what his brother thought or felt but he did feel bad for John. He knew the doctor cared deeply for him. 

 

“Not my brother,” Sherlock answered. “I’ll see John.”

 

“What about your mother?” the nurse questioned. “She’s been here all night.”

 

All night? Sherlock glanced over at the clock and was surprised to find it was six in the morning. Had his mother been waiting all night? That didn’t seem like her.

 

“Sure,” he said unable to hide his surprise. 

 

The nurse nodding before leaving the room. 

 

Sherlock was still in shock that his mother was there. This wasn’t his first suicide attempt. He had tried to hang himself when he was fifteen. He had almost succeeded then as well. He had tried to hang himself with a scarf in his closet. 

 

He’d been suicidal for ages but a visit from Mycroft had pushed him over the edge. His brother had lost weight, was doing amazing in Uni, and had a great job waiting. He was going places. His parents were  _ so _ proud of him.  He was everything that Sherlock would never be. 

 

Mycroft was the golden child. He was a disappointment. 

 

Shortly before the world went black the rod supporting him had broken. The noise brought his mother and father running. They had called an ambulance and Mycroft rode along with him.  

 

He’d been in the hospital for three days and his parents hadn’t come to visit him. Mycroft never left his side during those long three days. He was secretly glad his brother was there but it hurt that his parents hadn’t shown up.

 

My mother arrived on his last day to check him out. She wouldn’t even look at him as she filled out the paperwork. He could see the shame in her eyes as she signed the forums. She was ashamed of him. 

 

The doctors encouraged his mother to put him in some long-term therapy. She found a decent therapist and forced him to go for six months. Once he really started fighting her about going she dropped it. 

 

She dropped it because she really didn’t care.

 

Sherlock jumped a bit when he heard the door to his room opening. John and his mother walked inside. Both of them looked beyond tired. He doubted either one of them had slept.

 

“How are you darling?” she asked sitting down next to him.

 

“Fine,” he said with a snort. 

 

“You look pretty good,” John said sitting down on the other side of him.

 

“You’re lucky your friends found you,” Mrs. Holmes said. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His friends thought they had helped him but they hadn’t. They were just making his experience his depression and pain more. If he had died it wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

 

“When do I get to go home?” Sherlock questioned.

 

“Soon,” John said. “The doctor wants to make sure you’re stable enough to go home.”

 

“I’m stable,” he said. “I don’t want to be here.”

 

“I know you don’t,” his mother said. “You’ll be home before you know it.”

 

Sherlock loved his mother. Most of the time she was a great mother but she had left him when he needed her the most. Was she trying to make up for it now? 

 

“You two should go get some sleep,” the detective said. “I’m fine.”

 

“We’re planning on taking shifts,” John explained. “I want someone you trust to be here all the time.”

 

Why? It wasn’t like he could do anything in the hospital.

 

“John is going to stay here today,” his mother explained. “I’m staying at your flat so I’ll only be a phone call away.”

 

“Is Dad here too?” he questioned. 

 

His mother’s face fell right away. That was his answer. His father wasn’t there and he wouldn’t be there. No doubt he didn't want to come.

 

“No,” she answered after a long pause. “He’s substitute teaching this week. A friend of his is pretty ill and asked him if he would fill in.”

 

Yes. He was a substitute teacher. He didn’t do it all the time. It was more of a hobby for him. No doubt he was using it as an excuse for not seeing him. They could find a replacement. 

 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” she said quickly getting to her feet. “Remember to call me if you need me.”

 

She didn’t even give Sherlock a chance to reply before quickly heading out of the room. John looked a bit surprised by her sudden departure but he quickly returned to normal.

 

“Sherlock,” he said gently. “I’m here for you if you want to talk. I get the feeling you won’t want to but I want you to know I’m here.”

 

“Of course, I know you are,” Sherlock said closing his eyes. “I always knew that.”

 

“ _ Do _ you want to talk about it?” the doctor questioned.

 

“No,” he said shaking his head. “Maybe later. I want to go back to sleep.”

 

He knew that was a lie. He wasn’t going to tell anyone what was going on his head. Even though he’d just woken up he felt beyond tired.

 

“Alright,” John said. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

 

Sherlock gave a yawn before falling asleep. He just wished he could sleep forever. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

John wasn’t sure how to feel about what had happened. Sherlock was going to be alright. Well, he was going to live. If he was going to be alright was a different question. 

 

His friend seemed to be in pretty bad shape mentally. He didn’t want to talk to John about why he had tried to kill himself. He  _ barely _ acknowledged that it was a suicide attempt. When the doctor came in to do his review Sherlock went into a rage. 

 

He pointed out the doctor was having an affair with another doctor and that his wife knew about the whole thing. The doctor had walked off in a huff and refused to return. The nurses asked John if he could go in and try to calm him down. 

 

The good doctor didn’t know if he was going to be able to calm his friend down. He wasn’t a miracle worker. 

 

Sherlock was sitting up in bed with his mobile in his hands. He was angrily typing away. 

 

“Complaining to Mycroft?” John questioned. 

 

“Yes,” he said angrily hitting the buttons. “Maybe he can find me a doctor that isn’t an idiot.”

 

“No doctor will make you happy,” he said sitting down next to him. “You have to give one of them a chance. It’s just a few questions.”

 

“A few questions?” Sherlock snapped dropping his phone into his lap. “I don’t need some doctor trying to get into my head.”

 

“Are you afraid of what they might find?” John asked raising an eyebrow. “It seems to me like you’re scared.”

 

_ Scared? How dare John say such a thing?  _

 

“I want to go home,” he said. “I don't have anything to hide. I’m just sick of games with doctors.”

 

“Answer their questions,” John instructed. “They aren’t going to let you go home unless you do the review. They need to know what is going on in your head.”

 

John watched as Sherlock glared him at him for a few minutes. It was clear he didn’t want to go along with the doctors. He was being difficult for the sake of being difficult. 

 

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll do it.”

 

“I’ll tell them,” John said getting up from his chair. “I don’t want to hear a bad report.”

 

Sometimes John felt like he was raising two children. Sherlock could be so difficult to work with. He didn’t seem to care how hard everyone around him was working to help him. He just wanted to go home and be left alone. 

 

John walked out of the room and headed off to fetch a doctor. 

 

Sherlock sighed shaking his head. He didn’t want to do their stupid review. He knew they would ask him about previous suicide attempts. He didn’t want to talk about that time with anyone. 

 

What if John found out about it? Would Mycroft tell him? What would John think? 

 

He knew John wouldn’t judge him for trying to take his own life twice. He was a doctor. He knew that people who tried to commit suicide weren’t being dramatic. HIs friend understood that. Didn’t he? Would John think he tried to hang himself for attention?

 

Sherlock began to panic at the thought of that. He didn’t need his best friend turning on him, like his parents did when he was young.

 

“Mr. Holmes?” a voice called.

 

He looked up to see a new doctor standing in the doorway. He was going to cooperate with the doctor. John had asked him to and it was the least he could do. After all, he had caused his friend enough stress.

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Can we make this quick?” 

 

“Of course,” the doctor said sitting down.

 

Sherlock took a deep breath.

 

_ Just answer the questions and then you can go home. _

 

\---

 

Margaret Holmes didn’t know how to react to seeing her son in the hospital. He didn’t look her son. Her younger son was strong. He was a fighter. He wasn’t broken. That man in the bed was a shadow of the person he used to be.

 

She wished her husband was there. She’d seen Sherlock’s face when he found out he wasn’t there. 

 

As soon as Mycroft called them to explain what was happened she’d started packing a bag. To her horror, her husband refused to move. 

 

“I’m not feeding his need for attention,” Robert said not even looking up from his book.

 

“Are you mad?” she questioned. “He tried to kill himself again. We need to be there for him.”

 

“Look,” he said closing his book. “I don’t like the idea of not being there. I want to see him too but he’s a bit of drama queen. I’m afraid of feeding that.”

 

“He put a rope around his neck and jumped from a chair,” she explained. “Our son needs help.”

 

“It’s the same thing he did last time and I didn’t see you running to his side then,” he said reopening his book. “You insisted that we didn’t go.”

 

Guilt flooded Margret. He was right. When Sherlock was rushed to the hospital she had insisted they didn’t go. She had sent Mycroft in their place. She thought Sherlock wouldn’t want them there. No doubt her son was embarrassed and ashamed of what he’d done. The last thing he would want was his parents watching him as he tried to recover. 

 

Of course, that was only part of it. She tried to believe she had done it  “for Sherlock’s own good”. She claimed it would be more damaging if they were there. She convinced her husband it was the better option. 

 

In truth, she couldn’t handle looking at her son. She knew she would burst into tears if she walked into that hospital room and saw him lying there. She knew she wasn’t the best Mum but she couldn’t believe she had driven her son to that. 

 

Why hadn’t her son came to her and told her how he was feeling? 

 

The answer was clear. He didn’t think he could confide in her. 

 

She knew it was Mycroft's visit that had pushed him to do it. She didn’t blame Mycroft at all. She was the one to blame. She’d been so proud of Mycroft. He’d lost weight, was top of his class, and was going to have a wonderful job with the government. He was on the right track.

 

Margret should have made it clear to Sherlock that she was just as proud of him. He was top of his own class. In the next school year, he was going to be in an advanced chemistry program. He’d already overcome drug addiction. Sherlock could do ANYTHING he put his mind to. 

 

When she found her boy half dead on the floor of his closet she knew she was a failure. She’d let him down. 

 

It wasn’t the first time she’d let one of her children down and it wouldn’t be the last. 

 

She sat on the floor and took her son’s limp body into her arms. She let the tears flow down her face as he husband called for an ambulance.

 

She couldn’t visit him in the hospital after that. She just couldn’t. It was only afterward that she realized she’d made a horrible mistake. 

 

She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She ignored her husband as she kept packing a bag. 

 

Margret was fighting tears back as she returned to 221b baker street after seeing her son in the hospital. She knew she had made the right decision in coming. Sherlock as so shocked and happy to see her. He couldn’t believe she had come. 

 

He was pretty disappointed and hurt his father wasn’t there. Margaret had been texting him all morning. She was determined to get him to come. She pulled out her mobile as she sat down on the couch. 

 

**I can’t believe. Your son wants to see you.**

**MH**

 

To her surprise, he responded right away.

 

**We talked about this. We shouldn’t feed this.**

**RH**

 

Margret couldn’t believe him! She knew they had made a mistake as a couple last time but they had a chance to make it up. She narrowed her eyes as she responded. 

 

**I want a divorce**

**MH**

 

She couldn’t believe what she was typing. Was she really willing to divorce her husband over this? 

 

Her phone beeped right away.

 

**Over this? Go ahead**

**RH**

 

Margret turned over the phone. She couldn't handle looking at the messages. She couldn't believe him. If he was going to be so heartless maybe she shouldn’t be with him anymore!

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock felt very unsure as his doctor explained he was free to go home. They seemed satisfied he wasn’t a danger to himself. He had tried to hang himself only two days ago but the doctors believed he was safe. 

 

John had made it clear to his doctors that he wouldn’t be left alone. Perhaps that was what made the difference.

 

The detective dreaded the thought of going home. His mother was there. John was there. He was looking forward to seeing little Rosie. She always made his day but he wasn’t looking forward to seeing anyone else. 

 

They would watch him all the time. They would want him to  _ talk _ . 

 

Sherlock dreaded the idea of talking to anyone about what was going on in his head. They would never understand. 

 

Sherlock was a failure and he couldn’t live with it anymore. He wasn’t what his parents wanted him to be and he wasn’t what  _ he _ wanted to be. He knew his mother wanted grandchildren. She would never have them. Neither he nor his brother would ever have children. 

 

He loved Rosie but having his own children wasn’t in his plans. He had friends but had never had a lover. Sex wasn’t an area he was comfortable with. It was something his parents had never understood.

 

He was famous. He was a household name due to John’s blog. Yet, it didn’t feel earned. It felt like people were impressed with something they shouldn’t be. What he did wasn’t impressive. It was just paying attention to details and people’s behavior. 

 

Sherlock had disappointed his parents so much. He remembered how ashamed they had been the first time they found out about the drugs. He knew he’d let them down.

 

Then when had tried to hang himself the first time he had  _broken_ his parents. They had given him a loving caring home. He went to the best schools and had every material thing he could want. When he got caught with drugs they sent him to the best rehab center they could find.

 

Yet, he had been ungrateful. He pushed them away and tried to end his life. He had a life a lot of kids wished for but he had been willing to throw it away. 

 

What was _wrong_ with him?

 

His parents deserved a better son. His friends deserved a better friend. Rosie deserved a better godfather.

 

After the doctor left Sherlock rose from the bed and started to change into his regular clothes. As he moved his limbs felt so heavy. It felt like it was taking all of his energy to pull on his clothes. 

 

His doctors were insane if they thought he wasn’t going to try again. His friends and family would let down their guard and he would try again. He just needed to be a bit more careful the next time.

 

\--

 

John felt sick to his stomach and he unscrewed the board from the ceiling. He knew he should have removed it before but he could stand to touch it. Yet, he didn’t want Sherlock coming home and seeing it. He made sure the board went in with the rubbish.

 

Mrs. Holmes was going to pick him up from the hospital. She wanted to be there when he was discharged. John wished he could have been there but he understood why she wanted to be there. She was his mother. 

 

The doctor had searched Sherlock’s room for anything that could be considered “dangerous”. Anything could be dangerous if it was used right. In the end, he had decided not to touch anything. 

 

Since Rosie was born he didn’t keep his gun in the house. So he didn’t have to worry about that. 

 

John picked up his daughter and held her close as they sat down on the couch together. He wanted Sherlock to see her as soon as he walked in. He loved Rosie and liked spending time with her. Maybe seeing her would bring up his mood a bit,

 

Even though he was waiting for him to come home he still jumped when he heard the flat door open. 

 

He looked up at Sherlock as he walked in. He couldn’t believe how depressed his friend looked. Sherlock’s blue eyes looked so pale and crestfallen. His lips were twisted in a scowl. His eyes were fixed on his shoes. 

 

Sherlock crossed across the floor and dropped down in his chair. He looked so exhausted from his journey home. 

 

Mrs. Holmes walked into the room and hung up her coat. 

 

“How about I make something to eat?” she asked walking into the kitchen.

 

“Not hungry,” Sherlock said with a grunt. 

 

John frowned as Sherlock kicked off his shoes. He curled up in a ball in his seat. Despite his height, he looked so small and helpless. 

 

“How about I just order a takeaway?” John said standing up. “I’ll get Chinese from your favorite place.”

 

Sherlock let out a deep frustrated sounding sigh but nodded. That gave John the smallest amount of hope. He walked over to him and tried to hand him Rosie.

 

“Why don’t you hold her while I order the food?” the doctor asked. 

 

At first, Sherlock was going to refuse. Then, the little one reached her hands out for him. For a second he felt his depression slip away.  Rosie wanted to be held by him. He gave a little smile and held up his arms. She giggled and allowed herself to be pulled close.

 

John smiled as he went off to find his mobile. Everything was going to be fine. It was just going to take time. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock wasn’t sure just who knew about his attempt on his life. He knew his mother, John, and Mycroft knew but he didn’t know who else. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade knew something was up for sure. They kept coming by to check on him and we’re being extra nice to him. It actually made him a bit sick.

 

He didn’t need them feeling bad for him. He didn’t need their  **pity** . 

 

His mother stayed there for a whole week. He thought he was going to lose his mind. It felt like her eyes were always in him. He knew she was just trying to help but she was making things worse. Every time he looked at her he remembered how much he had let her down. It just made him more likely to try and kill himself again. 

 

Even when she left she was still coming by to check on him. No doubt she was staying in a hotel nearby. What was the point of leaving the flat if she was going to come every day anyway?

 

As the weeks passed John started giving him more and more room. He was watching him less. A whole month had passed before Sherlock finally got a chance to try again. 

 

The whole time he’d been out of the hospital he’d been trying to think of another way to end it.  Hanging himself was out unless he was able to get the flat all to himself for an hour or so. It would take him a little while to set it up.

 

A search of the medicine cabinet had been fruitless. There was nothing there that was going to help him. He growled in frustration as he closed the cabinet door. He slid down on the floor next to the toilet with a defeated sigh.  He was going to have to get creative if he wanted to end his life. 

 

“Sherlock!”  there was a knock on the bathroom door.

 

“What is it?” Sherlock questioned.

 

“I need to run to tesco,” John explained. “Will you be alright for a bit?”

 

“Sure,” the detective said. “I might just take a nap or something.”

 

Perhaps he would take a nap. He never used to like sleeping but lately it was something he found himself doing it a lot.  At least when he slept he didn't have to think about his problems. 

 

“Alright,” he said. “Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. If you need anything message me.”

 

_ Twenty six minutes to and from tesco. Plus shopping time.  _

 

Sherlock jumped to his feet as soon as he heard John leave the flat. John had given him a window and he was going to take it. He had an idea. He rushed to the kitchen and opened one of the high cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of Ammonia and bleach. He rushed back to the bathroom and retrieved a bucket from under the sink. 

 

He shut the bathroom door and placed a towel on the floor next to the gap .He put the bucket in the middle of the room and added the beach. His hands were shaking as he opened the cap to the Ammonia and started pouring it in. He dropped the bottle before sitting down next to the bucket.

 

It didn’t take long for his eyes to begin to water from the horrible chemical filling the small room. Soon he would began to cough. Hopefully he would pass out rather quickly. 

 

\--

 

As soon as John’s hit the pavement he began to second guess his decision. He wanted to trust Sherlock. He knew being watched all the time drove his friend crazy. He just wanted him to give him a little space. 

 

Yet, he knew this wasn’t the right decision. He needed to call someone to come and sit with Sherlock. His friend was clearly still depressed and he didn’t know if he was still thinking about killing himself. After all he hadn’t gotten his friend to talk about his feelings at all.

 

The doctor stood on the pavement for a few moments looking up at the flat. He was torn between waving down a cab and running in to check on Sherlock. Maybe everything was alright. Maybe he was worrying too much.  Only five minutes had passed before he made up his mind. 

 

“Dammit,” John cursed walking back into the house.

 

He would call Sherlock’s mum and have her come over. She hadn’t seen him all day anyway. He knew she would kill him if he left her son alone. He was a doctor after all. He knew what Sherlock could do to himself in an hour. 

 

He walked back to the bathroom to check on Sherlock. The detective was still in the bathroom. He knocked on the door.

 

“I’m going to have your Mum come over,” John said. “Do you want to come along instead?”

 

It was then that John smelt it. A strong a smell of bleach. What the hell was he doing in there? John tried the door knob and was relieved to find it unlocked. He turned the knob and pushed the door open open.

 

The smell was much stronger in the bathroom. Sherlock was still on the floor next to a bucket struggling to breathe. John felt sick when he noticed the bleach and ammonia bottles on the floor. 

 

He covered his face with shirt sleeve as he picked up the bucket and dumped it down the toilet. He grabbed Sherlock by waist and started pulling him out of the room. Sherlock seemed to recover a bit as he was pulled into the fresh air. He wasn’t gasping as much.

 

John pulled out his mobile and quickly dialed for an ambulance. How could he have been so stupid? He knew Sherlock wasn’t in any place to be left alone. 

 

“Oh Sherlock,” he said trying to help his friend into the sitting room. “You need fresh air. Come on.”

 

Sherlock struggled to stand on his on two feet as his friend helped him into the brightly lit room. The doctor placed him on the couch and opened the two windows at the front of the room. 

 

“Joh…” Sherlock moaned closing his eyes. 

 

“You’re going to be alright,” the doctor said kneeling down next to him. “You weren’t in there very long.”

 

“Just...just let me go,” he said while he panted for air. 

 

Despite being in clear air Sherlock felt like his lungs were burning. He opened his mouth to talk but fell into a coughing fit. He gasp as he tried to get his coughing under control. 

 

“You’re going through something,” John explained. “I get that. I don’t understand it. Mostly because you won’t talk about it but I refuse to give up on you. You’re my best friend Sherlock. I can’t just let you die.”

 

“Not….not ..good enough…” Sherlock murmured as he started to lose consciousness. “Not...anyone...Dad...Mum...don’t care….didn’t….”

 

With Sherlock fell unconscious. He was still breathing but his body was limp against John’s. The doctor felt he was on the edge of tears. Sherlock didn’t think he was good enough for him or even his own parents. That wasn’t true. Sherlock was an amazing guy. Why didn’t he see it?

 

He was going to make this better. He was going to make Sherlock see the worth in his life even if it was the last thing he did. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
